


sideways soft untouchable

by temporaryforce



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Cisswap, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporaryforce/pseuds/temporaryforce
Summary: “Listen,” Brandi says, distant, “that sounds great, and I’m happy for you, but I don’t require all the details of your great gay awakening.”“Oh, that wasn’t my great gay awakening,” Rae says instantly. “Sam Carter on Stargate was my great gay awakening. Thehair,man.”





	sideways soft untouchable

**Author's Note:**

> I was perusing my old Google docs out of sheer nostalgic curiosity and found some abandoned snippets from my Gen Kill cisswap 'verse. They're more cohesive than I remember them being, and frankly pretty decently written, so here ya go. Consider this a loose addition to "some deviant motherfuckers".
> 
> Sidenote: this was written roughly three years ago, and I've deliberately changed nothing, because coming back to this 'verse is fascinating to me: at the time of writing, I identified as somewhere in the realm of genderqueer/fluid & bisexual, playing with the idea of butch/stone butch lesbian; my mind was being blown by Stone Butch Blues (still highly recommend!) and I distinctly remember having been frustrated with the rarity of femslash sex scenes that I could see myself in. I wrote the sex scene in this fic as a direct challenge to myself: write an intimate scene between women that I could relate to and find hot. The results are a little clumsy, but I find aspects of it truly fascinating, specifically because I've gone through a lot of self-discovery in the last three years or so. I'm exclusively transmasculine and primarily gay, and looking now at my cisswap interpretation through that lens, there are a lot of things that are, in my specific case, unintentional easter eggs and IRL foreshadowing to the development of my identity. None of y'all need to care or relate in order to enjoy this, and in fact I doubt any of the bits of nuance that are obvious to me will be obvious to anyone else; I just thought it was interesting.
> 
> Anyway: blanket Gen Kill warnings, with additional warning for cisswap & cissexist language in dialogue, plus discussion of misogyny in the USMC.

(1)

Brandi has settled into a comfortable sort of buzz, warm and a little disoriented, when she hears Rae ask:

“How’d you lose your virginity?”

It takes Brandi a moment to process that question. A long moment. She takes a gulp of beer and wipes her mouth and lets another moment tick by, and another, and another. She studies the ground in front of her boots intently. There’s a stream of ants heading right past her feet, past Rae’s feet, over to a very small decorative gnome that seems to be surrounded by a ring of stale cheese and crackers, meticulously arranged. Brandi isn’t sure she wants to know.

“Where’d you get the garden gnome?” she asks.

“My ex,” Rae says. “You didn’t answer the question. First time you had sex.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Banged. Bumped uglies with another —”

“I heard you the first time,” Brandi says, and frowns at an ant that seems to have broken off from the swarm and is now industriously climbing up one of her thick boot laces. “The fuck do you mean by virginity?”

Rae flops over and wiggles until her head is lying in Brandi’s lap, blocking her view of her boot. “First time, Brandi. I know you’ve done it, or I wouldn’t be asking. _Sex._ Banging. Bumping —”

“God, shut up,” Brandi says, with feeling. To her surprise, Rae does.

Brandi isn’t sure why she answers, then. It might have something to do with Rae’s big brown eyes staring up at her, the edges of a smirk playing at her mouth.

“Summer after tenth grade,” she says. “With this guy I knew at work.” Rae makes a surprised noise, and she stops. “What?”

“You did it with a guy?”

“Uh, yeah?” Brandi raises an eyebrow, tugs at Rae’s hair a little. It’s shaggy — it’s been growing unchecked ever since Rae got back home. She’s not sure when she’d started touching it, running her fingers through it, but it’s soft and hypnotic and Rae seems to like it, so she keeps going. “I may have grown up in California, but it took me a while to figure out that being a lesbian was an actual possibility. I did a couple guys. Wasn’t that into it. After a while I realized the fact that I was constantly low-key checking out girls probably meant something.”

Rae makes a low humming sound, and Brandi feels abruptly self-conscious in a way that she can usually expertly avoid when sober. “What about you?” she says, before Rae can ask any more prying questions.

Rae doesn’t answer at first. “I did kiss a few guys,” she says, “in middle school, y’know, and I didn’t get the hype and shit, and so I stopped. Didn’t do anything else till I was a senior in high school.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Got a ride home from a Misfits concert from this girl I met. Dunno if I was high or what, but we were stopped at a traffic light for like an hour and she just looked over at me for a really long time and I didn’t know what to do so I kissed her.”

Brandi doesn’t bother suppressing a snort of laughter. “Jesus, what a fuckup,” she says, and it comes out fonder than intended. “Then what?”

“Then,” Rae says, looking and sounding utterly self-satisfied, “we took a detour over to an empty parking lot and fucked in the backseat.”

Brandi almost laughs again, but it catches in her throat. Rae’s still looking up at her, and she’s biting her lip to — unsuccessfully — hide a grin, crooked teeth pulling at a crooked smile.

Very suddenly, and very consciously, Brandi wants to roll Rae off her lap, stretch her arms up over her head, press her into the ground by her wrists, and kiss her till she moans.

She’s playing this fantasy in her head like a broken, tipsy record, and is in the process of convincing herself that it’s the _worst idea ever_ (the neighbors could see! _Rae would never let her live it down!_ ) when she realizes that Rae’s still talking.

“— had this blonde undercut,” she’s saying, dreamily, “and it felt so fucking nice, I kept stroking her head when she went down on me, and she wouldn’t use her fingers because she hadn’t cut her fuckin’ nails in two weeks but oh, shit, the way she _looked_ at —”

“Listen,” Brandi says, distant, “that sounds great, and I’m happy for you, but I don’t require all the details of your great gay awakening.”

“Oh, that wasn’t my great gay awakening,” Rae says instantly. “Sam Carter on Stargate was my great gay awakening. The _hair,_ man.”

 

(2)

Brandi realizes she effectively has Rae pinned with just her fingers. Rae isn’t going anywhere, just arching against the wall and canting her hips forward, thighs flexing and trembling. Brandi pulls her fingers out a little, moves them in one firm slow circle against Rae’s cunt and watches as she bites her lip, eyes rolling back a little. “Come on,” she says, “come _on,_ Brandi —”

Brandi keeps moving her hand in circles, back and forth, pressing over and over in excruciatingly slow pulses against Rae’s clit before slipping her fingers back inside. Rae is fucking sopping wet, right down to the insides of her thighs, and she’s shaking all over now, her head tipped back against the wall and hands grasping at Brandi’s sleeves. She’s coming apart, and it’s hot as hell. “Please,” she says, “fuck, fuck me, Brandi, come on —”

Brandi slides her middle finger further in, presses the heel of her palm against Rae’s cunt. Rae’s knees buckle and her hands fly up to clench at Brandi’s short hair. She’s fairly writhing now, head tossing from side to side, legs drawing together as if she can hardly bear it when Brandi starts to pull out again. “Come on, come on, come on,” she chants, and Brandi bites her own lip and gives Rae what she wants.

She reaches her left arm around Rae to pull her closer, forward, onto her hand. Rae’s thighs press together, keeping it there, and she exhales, slow and shaky. She drops her head onto Brandi’s shoulder, and then she wiggles closer still, hips pushing back and forth.

Brandi crooks her middle finger, pressing up hard against Rae’s cunt again with her palm, and then Rae starts _moaning_ and does not fucking stop, all her words disintegrating into an unintelligible stream. Her knees buckle again, but she’s got her arms wrapped around Brandi’s neck now, and she sways, choking on the desperate little sounds she’s making with every clever twist of Brandi’s fingers.

Brandi’s fingers are still trapped, though, confined to small movements between Rae’s tightly clenched legs. She starts to withdraw her hand entirely. Rae makes a loudly distinct noise of protest.

“Spread,” Brandi says, tapping at Rae’s feet with one of her own. Rae does, instantly.

“Good girl,” Brandi says in Rae’s ear.

There’s a long pause, then:

“Holy _shit,_ ” Rae says, heartfelt. “Get in me again, you fuck, fuck me till I can’t fucking _see_ —”

Brandi obliges, slamming Rae’s hips back against the wall and well and truly taking her apart, one finger moving deep inside and the rest of her hand pushing over and over against her cunt till she comes, finally, hard and pulsing; and Brandi loses track of how long Rae writhes until she stills, swaying gently on her feet.

 

(3a)

Rae used to get jealous of Brandi, back when they met, a few months before Afghanistan. So _fucking_ jealous. It was the sort of nasty ache that made red spots fly behind her eyes, that made her knuckles itch to get into a scrap; it was the sort that twisted and fought and wound its way out of her body in the form of stinging sarcasm and words too big to fit in her mouth.

“I know it’s fuckin’ wrong, man,” she’d said to her sister, weeks before deploying. Gracie was making omelets, loaded with onions and peppers, sizzling too hot and loud in the small kitchen. “We should be stickin’ together, right? Two females in the entire fuckin’ battalion. The only two females in Recon who’re shipping out together. We should have each other’s backs, yeah?”

Gracie hummed noncommittally. “Is it really that much of an issue?” she’d said. “As long as you both do your jobs?”

“Shit, I guess not,” Rae had said, and then, “shit, though, it is. It really is.”

The guilt seeped into her pores like motor oil, toxic and familiar. “It doesn’t make any fucking sense. She should have it just as hard as I do, right? Instead she fuckin’ strides around like a motherfuckin’ She-Hulk ice queen. She don’t take shit, she don’t dish it. She’s like a wall. Nothing gets to her. Nothing touches her,” she said, and took a massive bite of omelet.

“Sounds pretty great,” Gracie said, “except you’re wrong, probably, about it being easier for her.”

“I know,” Rae said. “Fuck you, I know.”

Gracie smiles. “Love you.”

“Love you too, asshole.”

 

(3b)

The other unfair thing about Brandi, Rae realizes, is that she’s fucking hot.

She’s got muscles on top of muscles. Her hands are large and capable. Her gaze is an unwavering, icy blue, and her hair is cropped short and even: regs still don’t require the same haircuts for women as for men, and Brandi’s is just a little longer than the male regulation. It is a thatch of white-gold silk that makes Rae want to _touch_.

And the thing is: Rae is confident she’s not the only one. Brandi has a particular kind of butch, covered-up beauty that hardly seems to wane in the squalor and chaos of war. There’s no way none of the men have noticed, but not one of them approaches her.

It’s not just out of fear of retribution, and it’s certainly not out of respect for her as a woman. All of the men who know what’s good for them respect Brandi as a Marine and a warrior; but there isn’t always an overlap, Rae thinks, between a man who trusts you with his six in a kill zone and a man who won’t still treat you like a piece of meat outside of one.

But no one touches Brandi, not in foxholes, not in graves, not on leave, not stateside. Rae thinks maybe it’s because a part of Brandi never leaves the kill zone. Rae thinks maybe that if any of these men tried to touch Brandi, if she didn’t want it, they would find themselves the enemy combatant, and Brandi would obliterate them with the same steady, cheerful coldness she embodies on the battlefield.

**Author's Note:**

> (Sorry about that abrupt ending! I really did change nothing, yo.)
> 
> I also have no fucking clue if the references to Stargate and the Misfits are consistent with the Afghanistan/OIF timeline, and I'm not about to check. There was so much projection going on when I wrote this. SO MUCH.
> 
> All named individuals in this fanfiction are fictional constructs based on characters from the HBO miniseries Generation Kill as portrayed by actors, and should not be associated with the existing Marines represented in Evan Wright's Generation Kill. I acknowledge the unavoidable ethical complications in publicly posting RPF inspired by this piece of media, and may at any point choose to take down this work, without prior warning, if it should become necessary.


End file.
